


Primordial Wasteland

by Helholden



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alpha Peter Hale, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Canon-Typical Violence, Dubious Consent, F/M, Gen, Manipulation, Mind Control, Non-Consensual Touching, Non-Consensual Voyeurism
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-05-25
Updated: 2015-05-25
Packaged: 2018-04-01 04:57:19
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,726
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4006639
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Helholden/pseuds/Helholden
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>There is an ebb and flow to the universe, a system of push and pull. Give and take. Sometimes the good guys win, but sometimes the bad guys do, too.</p><p>Or, instead of Nurse Jennifer, there's Lydia. Sequel to <a href="http://archiveofourown.org/works/3962317">Run</a>.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Primordial Wasteland

**Author's Note:**

  * For [KaelsMiscellany](https://archiveofourown.org/users/KaelsMiscellany/gifts).



> Because Kaels wanted to know what happened next.

_* * *_

 

 

Her eyes stare out of the window, hand perched just so on the glass. She sees him approach the house from a distance in broad daylight, a dark speck amongst the leaves drawing closer, until the sway of his black coat behind him is as visible as his blue eyes.

 

Their eyes meet, and as if by his silent conveyed request, Lydia goes downstairs to unlock the door and let him inside. Her parents aren’t home, so they won’t notice anything. He’ll be gone by the time they get back. He always is.

 

His eyes fix on hers again as soon as she opens it.

 

She stares back until he sweeps past her, brushing too close against her arm, and Lydia shivers as she closes the door. Peter is behind her a moment later, pressing against her back but barely touching, nose in her hair and one hand on her head as well. His other hand presses against the glass of the window on the back door to either block her in or give him solid purchase or both.

 

She should be frightened of him, if she were in her right mind, but Lydia isn’t in her right mind. Peter has a hold over her, some kind of lingering effect of the bite he left in her side as if his teeth had been laced with hallucinogenic toxins now flowing freely through her veins. Her heart pounds in her ribcage at the sight of him, her breathing rapid and erratic, but none of these are based in fear.

 

They do keep her in place, though, these pleasant little waves of shocks coursing through her body, and Peter breathes on her ear. It spikes her arousal, and he can smell it. He drinks it in hungrily, always savoring these too close moments with her, but never taking full advantage of them.

 

“You’ve done so well, Lydia,” Peter praises, his voice a low murmur in her ear. Lydia closes her eyes and turns towards him, catching the tangy scent of damp iron on his clothes. _Blood_. He has blood on him.

 

“Have I?” she asks, breathless.

 

At his behest, she helped him track down the names and addresses of those who were involved in the Hale house fire. Lydia did most of the research, giving all of her findings to Peter, who then took her information and used it to dispose of the people who had done this to him—who put him in the hospital in the first place, who decimated his entire family, sacrificing them alive to the burning flames.

 

Lydia doesn’t know what she is doing, though. She isn’t entirely herself. Each of her decisions are defined by a simple urge to get something done. He gives her a task, and she follows through with it. There is an ebb and flow, a system of push and pull. Give and take. She follows through with them until the scales even out again.

 

She is governed by universal laws far beyond her control, and well within Peter’s grasp.

 

The tip of his nose grazes along her ear as he holds her with his other hand. “Yes, my sweetheart, yes . . . ” he assures her. “You’ve done so well.” Peter nuzzles her lower, burying his face into her neck as he breathes in deep.

 

He doesn’t take her here against the wall. He could. Lydia wouldn’t even fight it, and she might even enjoy it, but he doesn’t do it.

 

He pulls away just enough to let his fingertips graze along her neck, pulling back her hair to get it out of the way. Lydia’s eyelids flutter as it invokes a tingle in her nerves, and she tilts her head back to welcome the touch. It’s dangerous territory for both of them. He has never been this handsy before, and she’s never been this bold or this needy.

 

Lydia is more than halfway out of her mind, so she doesn’t know what she wants from him. She doesn’t seek out his hand or his mouth or ask him to fuck her, but she does slip her hand beneath her nightgown, lets her fingers glide low between her thighs to touch the thin layer of cotton between them and her skin. Moaning aloud at each of the little sparks her own fingers persuade out of her, she basks in the glow of it, the warm sunlight on her skin through the glass, the heat of him at her back.

 

Behind her, Peter falls still, his hand pausing on her shoulder. A strange tension now thrums through his core, and she feels it behind her like a living thing.

 

There is so much need and so much desire coursing on invisible threads between them, and Lydia just wants to alleviate some of the pressure; she wants to collapse over the edge of the cliff they stand on and lay safely in the grass afterwards. She leans into him, another soft noise escaping her parted lips as her fingers circle her and she widens the space between her legs.

 

Peter breathes hard against her shoulder, the hand he has on her running down her arm and back up again. He squeezes her arm with his fingers, craving more to touch but holding back.

 

Lydia lets out a frustrated moan at his lack of help, tugging down her underwear until her ass is bare between them and her fingers slide easily into the slickness she has between her legs. Peter’s nostrils flare, his hands gripping her shoulders hard, hard enough to bruise, to keep his hands from joining hers. Lydia presses into the seat of his pants, presses her back flush against his chest, and Peter rests his cheek against the side of her hair, breathing harder as he gropes her shoulder and runs his other hand along her neck with light, soft strokes of his fingers over her skin.

 

She comes without him ever touching her unless the dig of his claws in her flesh counts. Lydia gives a short, quiet gasp, leaning her forehead against the glass as she slumps. Peter retracts his claws and removes his hand from her shoulder, his tongue lazily lapping at the blood pooling upward from the puncture wounds he left in her.

 

“Why didn’t you touch me?” Lydia finally asks, thinking he should have seized the moment while it was there. She wanted it. She wanted it so much.

 

“As tempting as it was,” Peter says, his breath ghosting over the back of her neck as his hand runs back down her arm, “you’re not quite yourself, Lydia. You will be again, eventually, but if I did, you’d hate me and I wouldn’t want that . . . ”

 

“No, I wouldn’t—”

 

“Shh,” Peter tells her, tucking her hair behind her ear. “You’ve been so good,” he goes on, pushing Lydia to focus on something else but the still continuing pulse between her legs, “and there’s only one more thing left for us to do.”

 

She breathes in slowly. “What’s that?”

 

His lips graze her ear as he leans in to speak. “Kill Kate Argent.”

 

Lydia moans and throws her head back, running her hand along the side of his neck. It’s his desire she feels pooling in her, not her own—it’s his wishes, wants, and fears. It’s what makes this so easy for her to do, so easy for her to follow his command. She feels what he feels; she wants what he wants. There is an opening ripped in the fabric of reality between them, bits and pieces of his soul pouring into her.

 

His hold on her is limited, though. It will run out. Derek is looking for him. Scott has his suspicions. The Argents are close.

 

Eventually, his time will run out.

 

-

 

A few weeks later after that fateful encounter, the time has come. Lydia blows a kiss of powdered wolfsbane into Derek’s face at Peter’s instruction. The powder is laced with narcotics, and it works like a charm. Derek’s eyes flutter as he loses his balance, and he collapses onto the floor.

 

With his nephew out cold for a good few hours, Lydia is ready for the new stage of the plan. She is already dressed and ready for the school formal, so she shows up and distracts the Argents with a staged werewolf attack at the school. It’s all fake, of course, only designed to hold their attention for a short while, but Chris and Victoria rush headlong into the fray of madness. Their daughter, Allison, has no idea what’s going on, but she stays, searching desperately for Scott as he tries his best to avoid being sighted by the Argents. The end result is that they are all too tied up to even notice what happens next.

 

In the process of her scheme, Lydia lures Kate away by pretending to be bitten as well. The huntress tracks Lydia through the forest to the preserve, where Peter is waiting for them.

 

It’s dark in the Hale house, but Lydia’s dress is bright like a pearl, and she finds her way to Peter covered in fake blood. There is a small smile on her face before she slips behind him, and Kate Argent appears in the spot where Lydia had been standing only moments prior.

 

Kate’s eyes are wary when she notices the way Lydia crouches behind Peter, how the girl peers around his legs to look back at Kate.

 

Kate takes a careful step to the left, eyes darting back up. “You’ve already turned her,” she says.

 

Peter smirks, tilting his head. “Now, how would I do that?” he says, taking a step to the right. “She’s immune.”

 

Kate’s eyes narrow at his comment. She keeps on walking, though, so does Peter. Lydia moves out of the way, not staying directly behind him but avoiding Kate. Lydia crouches behind a broken armoire as the huntress flits her gaze toward her in the shadows.

 

It happens so suddenly.

 

Kate draws out a gun, and Peter lunges. The gun goes off, but he dodges a bullet and snatches Kate. Amidst the struggle, Lydia hears Peter’s voice as he is saying something to Kate—something strong and emotionally charged—but her gaze is torn from their struggle to the sight across the room.

 

The lone bullet to escape the barrel of her gun wound up in Scott’s abdomen as he stands there, looking shocked at his own blood on his hands.

 

Something inside of Lydia snaps as she blinks, and she gets up, hurrying to Scott as he falls to the boards.

 

Lydia hears the loud _snap_ of bone breaking with a twist and the lifeless sound of a body dropping to the floor, but all of her attention is on Scott as she presses her hands onto his wound to staunch the blood.

 

Lydia feels Peter’s hand on her shoulder. Hot tears stream down her cheeks, and out of nowhere, she sees Peter scooping Scott up, feels him leaving her hands. Up she looks, and Peter glances down at her. “Come, Lydia,” he says. “That bullet was silver, and we don’t have much time if we plan to save dear Scott.”

 

She pushes up to her feet, obeying him, not realizing his motivations are purely selfish and self-serving. He has no desire to save Scott just to save Scott, but if he can save Scott and add him to his pack, well, then it’s the beginning of something new.

 

-

 

When Scott wakes up to Peter looming over him under a bright light and a metal instrument in hand, he jerks back across the table, only to wince in pain because of his open wound. Peter drops the bullet into a pan, the metal clanging loudly in the silence, as the entry wound finally begins to heal.

 

“What are you doing?” Scott asks, suspicion and mistrust laced in his words, his eyes bright and half-fearful. He pushes himself up into a sitting position as Peter puts down the instrument.

 

Peter raises his eyebrows at such an obvious inquiry. “What does it look like I’m doing, Scott? I’m saving your life.” He stands there so unassumingly, harmless if Scott is trusting enough to believe it. “Do you think your veterinarian is the only one who knows how to do this?”

 

Scott swallows, glancing around the room. “Where’s Lydia?”

 

Peter turns around. “Lydia,” he calls out, and it takes a moment for her to appear with something in hand. Lydia notices Scott, and something tugs a smile on her face as she places the black heap of cloth onto the end of the table where Scott is now sitting up.

 

Scott sees her, and he slips off the table carefully, wincing as he lands on his feet. With his wound healing rapidly, it makes moving easier, but he still hurts. Silver burns werewolves from the inside out. Scott puts his back to Lydia and stands in front of her, facing Peter as determination burns in his eyes.

 

“Lydia, we have to leave,” Scott says, eyeing Peter, but Peter only smiles on the opposite side of the room.

 

Scott feels Lydia’s hands on his shoulders. “Scott,” she murmurs beside his ear, “we don’t have to run from Peter. He’s our friend.”

 

Widening his eyes, Scott turns to face her. “Lydia, what—”

 

“Those people,” Lydia tells him, shaking her head, “they burned his family alive, Scott. They were monsters. Every one of them. His and Derek’s family. Peter was only making this town safer for people like you and me—for _us_.”

 

Scott freezes. “Did he bite you?”

 

“Yes,” Peter answers across the room, circling around the table to come closer to them, “but in Lydia’s case, she’s not a werewolf. She is immune, Scott. My bite has awoken other dormant powers within her . . . ”

 

“You’re controlling her,” Scott says firmly. “There’s no way Lydia would—”

 

Lydia touches his shoulders again, turning Scott back to face her as Peter creeps closer to them unseen. “That’s not true, Scott,” she assures him, the words falling from her lips but coming from Peter. “Peter wants to protect us. He wants to help us. The Argents want nothing but to kill us because we’re different. And Allison, we both love her, Scott, but she’s one of them. They’ll train her to be _just_ like them, and she’ll turn on us, Scott. They all will.”

 

Lydia touches her palm to Scott’s cheek as he listens hopelessly, disbelieving yet unable to turn away. Peter is standing behind him now, fueling the words from Lydia’s lips. “Kate Argent was the real enemy. She was the one who burned the Hale house to the ground, and you trust them? After all of the innocent people they’ve killed?” There are tears in her eyes, and Scott is lost in them.

 

He is not just listening to her now, but hearing her as well.

 

Lydia holds Scott’s cheek firmly. “Peter is your Alpha, Scott, and he’ll take care of us. He’s the only person we can trust.”

 

Scott doesn’t want to believe her. It’s clear in his eyes, but then Peter is already behind Scott. His claws sink into the back of Scott’s neck, and Scott gasps. If Peter can’t control him one way, he’ll find another way to get Scott McCall under his thumb.

 

With Lydia and Scott at his side as a part of his pack, he’ll be powerful. He might even be unstoppable. They are both very, very significant in their own right, and they don’t even know it. Peter will nurture their potential, though, and they will owe themselves to him.

 

Scott falls to the floor, convulsing as a result of Peter’s tampering with him, and Lydia crouches down to soothe him as Peter walks away to clean off his hands at the sink, washing the blood from beneath his fingernails.

 

“You’ll see, Scott,” Peter says casually, drying his hands on a towel as he turns to face them. “You’ll see things my way, and you’ll understand why I’ve done some of the things I’ve done. And you’ll be one of us,” Peter finishes, tossing the towel aside and leaving the room.

 

Once he has Lydia and Scott, all he will need is Derek.

 

As Peter walks away into the dark shadows of the hallway, a small smile curls at the corner of his mouth.

 

 


End file.
